Smile Through the Tears
by Kaila-wrote
Summary: I'm just going to tell you that all of the things that you read in this journal...forever will be true. I really knew the infamous boy now called a Mister Edward Elric and our challenges were those of legend. You may read now. [OC  NO PAIRINGS]
1. Prologue

Firstly, this is a fanfiction, yes. I will get no sort of recognition for writing this. This will never get me published, I realize this. I have written original stories. Very many of so. Most of them are, in my own words, decent. Nothing amazing. Nothing fantastic enough to be published. And I also realize that there are many other authors out there with the same skills that I have and there are also many who can write much, much better than myself. I am not the best. But I am no where near the worst. However, here is the difference than myself and most writers. I spend as much time writing a fanfiction as I do on an original piece and any of my poetry. Maybe this is a godsend. Maybe this is an omen. One never does though. But since I put as much time into a fanfiction as I do into an original, know that I put my heart and soul into it.

And if you steal anything I write, I will chop off your little fingers. :D

Secondly, I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist. I do own Kristoph Mistan. Take his personality or anything about him or the make-up of this story and read the line above this small section. Please and thank you.

Don't forget to rate and review.

--

Prelude: 

**YOU MUST READ THIS. **

(Although, I can't make you I suppose.)

Do not skim it over as if it is merely garbage and not worth your time.

These few lines may be the ones that later on save your life.

Do not make the same mistakes that I have.

_Learn to trust_ those you normally never would.

_Learn to see_ what affect your actions have on others.

Tamper with the things that you know nothing about.

It is really the only way to learn anything of worth.

_Learn to live_ on the edge of life.

Sometimes it is vital to walk in the streetinstead of on the sidewalks.

Do things that you normally never would attempt.

_Have a heart_ and realize that others have one the same as yours.

Do not put up your walls and allow no one to see you.

But also know that false personas are sometimes the best move.

Rarely, but at times, they'll save your life.

You can tempt sin as much as you want.

Just know that it will just as quickly tempt you back.

And you will fall for its temptation before it will fall for yours.

Never regret your mistakes, but...

_Learn to learn_ from your mistakes.

Don't think of yourself as one person.

See yourself as if you are an entire city, and so you shall be.

Don't be afraid of what you don't know.

Learn the value of being pure hearted.

Learn to long to have those days back.

And most of all know,

You can walk back from Death.

You just have to know the right time to go back to It.

Be prepared to sacrifice it all if the right time comes.

--

Yes. I often write preludes to my own journals.

And these preludes are often multiple pages. Odd? Yes. Uncommon- for me? Not in the least.

I'm just going to tell you that all of the things that you read in this journal, they all were, are, and forever will be true.

If this isn't true, then you are reading the diary of a criminally insane person, who is living on the brinks of Hell and Earth and made this entire story up. Which, while not completely wrong, should be quite as interesting as the real thing, don't you think?

I really knew the infamous boy now called a Mister Edward Elric. I knew his brother. his friends, his superiors and his underlings. And I knew them all well, as much as I now wish that I hadn't known them at all.

I've had encounters with all of his mistakes- my adventures with Envy were one of the kind. And while I await my judgment before the final gates, I write this all down on paper, as so I don't want my life to be eternally forgotten in the sands of time. So, perhaps that this may be found by someone in 20- 50- 100 years, and it will let someone know of the life that I left behind and my marks on humanity. And they were quite huge marks left if I do say so myself. And I do.

So, you may call this journal a tale of lies- the incessant ramblings of a feeble mind- whatever the case may be in your case of course. Only you can determine whether these tales told are truths or lies because by the time that it is read by anyone of whom will be influenced by this writing, I will be completely disintegrated into dust or a molded corpse in a coffin somewhere. Morbid, but true.

As I write this now, my mind is completely stable. In my old age, I have not wearied. (Mind old in my case is only mere elementary years for others.) I can still remember these conversations with my friends and enemies as if they were as fresh as today's in my mind. Not that I've had any at all today, but this, again, is beside the point that I was attempting to make.

Over the years, I have managed to find contact with my closest of friends and even the lovers that I thought that I had managed to be rid of. I've come to see what they saw in these very same times as my own. By seeing their points of views, I have been changed. I've seen my wrongs ever the more clearly. But one cannot change the past, so one shouldn't regret mistakes.

I have seen war, my dear. And know that it is nothing near as beautifying as people make it out to be in the movies and stories. I know that heartbreak comes along just as easily as happiness, if not easier in certain cases.

Okay, maybe I do manage to ramble and become off topic. But, alas, this is the way that I've always managed to be. This is but life. And life is much too short to worry about the little things.

While bearing all of the things that I have said in mind, you may begin now.

--


	2. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist. I do own Kristoph Mistan.

--

The Journal of Kristoph Mistan

Volume One

My hair was a pale gray almost appearing white. Skin tanner than most's. Eyes almost appearing such a strange color that they looked almost a shade of blood red. This description out-cast me from every one else. No matter where I go this look goes with me. My heritage keeps me apart.

What I was? Ishballian.

And my job? To keep with my teacher, the one known as Merzan...Scar.

"Kristoph?" He called my name. I could hear, without even trying to, the malicious tone that he spoke it with. He hated me more than he had my father.

"Yes, sir?"

"Do you know why my brother chose me to inherit this arm?"

"No. Do you know? Sir?"

"My brother worked in mysterious ways. None of which I understand. Sinful ways..."

It was rare that he would admit that he didn't understand something. But by now I knew better than to test him on anything. I had witnessed some of the murders that that arm had committed.

Merzan... He was not- He is not, in his heart, a bad person. That arm made him do crimes he normally would never commit. How would I know this? It's actually simple, well not really. Living in secrecy was not all that easy. I hated it. So few people even knew of my existence... I wanted to get away from this. From everything.

But Merzan? Scar? Scar was my uncle.

I know it may seem strange. And it may not even seem believable, but it is the truth. My father was and is his brother. It was little known that Merzan had a nephew. Why this was left unknown to the citizens of Ishbal, I will never know.

My mother was killed during long before the war in Ishbal was even started. She took my father's heart with her. Left dazed, confused on where to take his life next he set off to find the man that could help him make the philosopher's stone. When he came back he didn't say a word of it, so I knew better than to ask.

He died. He died a horrible and painful death that I would not with all my heart and soul not wish on anyone- even my worst enemy. He was ripped limb from limb, quite literally, and then he was left to die alone. He left his arm to Merzan. I was left alone, in my own solitude, that managed to kill me slowly. So now, all I that have left is Merzan. He may not be the perfect example of family, but he is all that I have. All that I have left has betrayed me so many times.

He had been silent all of this time. I had made the notion not to talk as well. He needed his quiet time now. He indeed had quite the temper, I knew this from experience. I have a scar from my left shoulder to the palm of my hand as a reminder of that little incident. I still refuse to believe that in his heart that he was a bad person- no matter how much hardship he has managed to call me.

"Kristoph?"

"Yes?" I looked up.

"Come. We're going to East."

"But sir-"

"Don't question me." And I didn't after that. He sounded too angry for me to even attempt to disagree with him. I'd tried that before, remember?

He stood up and walked from the tent. I followed. My eyes were kept to the ground as we walked from our campsite. Our leader would more than likely ask Merzan questions and I would be left unnoticed in the back ground as always.

To the people of our fallen city, I was invisible. What I did to deserve this I don't know. (I later found out many things. Trust me.) And long ago I had lost all reason to care as well. If these people hate me, let them hate me with a vengeance. My ability to care about what people thought of me was lost as my best friend was killed in the War.

Rison was only thirteen years old. What had he done to the military that would make them kill him without a second thought? He did what any other person would have in a war. He was simply curious, which wasn't a sin from what I had heard, and they killed him for it. I drove my fingernails into a fist so hard that I nearly drew blood from my palm. I got a _little_ worked up when it came to Rison, let's call it.

The military was wrong when they came to Ishbal, and they needed to know it. This was the only reason why I went along with my uncle. It was wrong, yes, I know this, and I'd be punished for my sins when I died. But now I didn't care about what was going to happen when I died and much less about my sins. I, to this day, do not regret being willing to follow Merzan to the gates of hell. I refuse to regret anything that I have done in my infancy of a real life. Maybe, back then, I was a bit harsh but it was how I was raised.

_'Be untrusting of whom you do not know. Be unforgiving to whom you do not trust.' _If I remembered nothing, I was sure that was the one thing I'd be forced to remember.

My family was not what you would call a normal one. My father, he wasn't horrible. He didn't mean to be at least. I don't know how I managed to live with him for fourteen years, though. He was so overprotective, overbearing. I thought that, at times, if he wouldn't loosen his hold, I would suffocate from his pressure. I held no doubt in my mind that he loved me- for my mother, if nothing else. Some of the things that he did or said lead me to believe that he didn't love me because I was his child, but because I was my mother's child. And it was completely obvious if you would have been around the two of us. We acted exactly alike, it was frightening. Nothing was the way it should have been, I noticed that when I was done.

My mother was a... Actually, I don't know if there was a word to describe my mother. I met her, of course. But I was young. And I was infantile, even for my years. She died when I was six. She had been ill since before my birth. I just happened to intensify the process of her death, I suppose. The Medicine Man was thoroughly surprised that she had not died in childbirth. He said that she had this will to live about her, that he hadn't been able to see in anyone that he had met before her. Because of her illness, I was directly blamed for her death. That may have been the source of my scorn. Every person in Ishbal had relied on my mother for something as I have now come to find out.

She was just a child when I was born- not very much older than I am was at the time that this story is taking place. (A mere eighteen if you are too dumb to do the math.) She had met my father when she was young; they married young; they died young. That was the way that fate worked for them. Not the most flattering of ways, but they never deserved the most flattering of ways. And it was a vicious cycle that had consumed our entire family. No one with the name Mistan ever lived past their thirtieth year- who was I to think, that after the long line of this curse that consumed us, that I'd be the one to break it.

My father... he talked of her like she was the goddess of Heaven and Earth. As if not even Ishbala was as holy as she. That was ultimately his fatal flaw. He missed her. He more than missed her. He needed her. He was dying without her, literally. He'd do anything within his power to get her back. He was willing to massacre hundreds of thousands to be able to have her back. He was willing to kill off our holy land to have her back. He was willing to attempt to kill me to get her back. And just like that, I was nothing to him. He saw the chance to get her back, and he ignored any parental instinct that he may have had. I was nothing- just a pawn that he attempted to use like he had any other.

I held no resemblance to her. I held only a likeness to his nothingness, his brother. To the man that had attempted to keep my father from getting her back. Whether their love was one that blossomed from hate (they're closely related you realize), or if it really was love, I don't know. I don't want to know. They weren't meant to be together. They had been purposely separated for most of their lives. They weren't meant to be. I wasn't meant to be. But people become blinded by love. They leave all things that they knew behind. People kill to find and keep love. Little did they (or do most people as a matter of fact) know, but love, while able to turn people into valiant and fantastic knights, it is also able to turn people into monsters. Love is often worse than hate in that case. Their forbidden love turned me into something that I did not want to be. It turned me into an outcast. In this back drawn, and nearly died out, society, I was the main outcast. I was alone.

"Kristoph."

I didn't notice how long we had been walking. We had left in early morning; I hadn't realized that it was now far past sunset. I got trailed off into my thoughts easily back then. It was almost an escape from reality, really. I lived for those moments. I really, truly did.

I guess it was from being alone until I met Rison. He was more like family to me than my own. His family treated me as if I was one of their own. I could never repay them for that, and I will never have the chance unless something in a different world decided otherwise.

"We will finish this tomorrow." He said sitting down.

I simply nodded and continued standing. The words exchanged between him and I were never more than necessary, meaning that for the most part I was silent. Not that we were very talkative when other people were around. There was no reason to talk in general because there were always the remnants of things that ached to be said. Grudges held for years and years that were attempting to make their escape were all that existed between Merzan and I.

"I'll be back sir."

At the time, I wasn't quite sure how close to East Headquarters we were. I figured that Merzan wouldn't be stupid enough to close to the city when every State Alchemist in the Military was after him. Apparently, I was wrong, because Merzan may have just been the biggest idiot that I had ever met in my life. And I had met myself.

"Hey, you," was shouted in my direction. I looked over my shoulder into what seemed to be a garden of sand because nothing else was in sight. But before I even realized it, there was a dog of the military, dressed in the standard dark blue, white trimmed military uniform.

_'Crap!' _I exclaimed mentally. (That little line right there- you see it? The one that's all tilted and such, yeah. Not a typo. Those little tilty letters mean that I was, at that point in time, thinking those little tilty words. Go figure. I can think.)

First instinct cut in right there; I turned and got my ass out of there. I always listen to my first instinct- for better or for worse. It's usually for worse. Which is not that good, but things happen.

In this case, it was probably the wrong move considering I had done nothing wrong. However, if I was to mention that I look exactly like my uncle even down to the 'X' shaped scar on my face, every person in the military would be out to kill me, which they were. The only differences were that my hair was much longer than his and I was only 18 to his 27. There were two more, the face decorations. The ones that labeled us 'marked', otherwise known as traitors. Mine were made so that they hit the upper part of my scar down under my ear lobes and connected to the back of my hair line. Not as noticeable as my father's had been, but nonetheless there. Merzan had none. He wasn't considered traitorous until the demolishing of Ishbal was already said and done. Well, that and the fact a lot of people said that my face was a lot more girlish than expected from a male in my family. But that was often blamed on my mother's side of the family. Males were more effeminate than most on that side of the family.

Oh, if they only had known the half of it.

I finally stopped. I needed to catch my breath and fast because, with hearing the ferocity in the approaching voices of those officers, I needed to get out of there. Quick. Very, very quick.

"Hey Major. What's all this about?" I heard a voice say. They weren't as far away as I thought that they would be.

"Scar has been spotted in the city. We must find him before he gets away." This major's voice was odd. Very odd.

"I'M NOT SCAR! YOU STUPID-!" I found myself shouting. My hand capped over my mouth.

_'To Ishbala...I'm such an idiot!' _I ran faster, if that was even possible.

When you are thought to be a mass murderer of military leaders and the military that those leaders were from are on your trail, then damn right you'd better run fast.

I grabbed a piece of coal from my pocket. Yes, I did often carry around coal just incase crap situations like this popped up. It's called foreshadowing. I often got into these types of situations. Apparently, I am a "trouble magnet".

Without thinking or even drawing a breath in edgewise, I quickly drew an alchemy symbol on the flattened part next to the huge crack in the concrete wall in front of me. The wall folded into its self an opening a little less than two feet wide. I slipped through, closing the wall behind me. I leaned my forehead against the wall in a pathetic attempt to catch my breath. It didn't work. Things rarely work out in my favor, you'll realize this later. Or you could take my word for it and realize it now. It's your choice really. I could care less.

I knew alchemy, but that was an entirely different story. One not needing to be told while I was being hunted down by people with guns and alchemic powers. I don't think that this is the proper time. There are several other times when this little story will be much more appropriate.

_'Why does this always happen? I shouldn't even be allowed in public.'_

And by the way, I loathe my sense of hearing. I think it has a defect. I can never hear things when I need to. Honestly, Ishbala must hate me dearly, right?

--


	3. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist.

--

Journal of Kristoph Mistan

Volume One

_'Why does this always happen? I shouldn't even be allowed in public.'_

And by the way, I loathe my sense of hearing. I think it has a defect. I can never hear things when I need to. Honestly, Ishbala must hate me dearly, right?

"You know you've gotten a lot slower since the last time." It was the same voice that I had heard earlier yelling at his major about me. The one that made me blow my cover in the first place. His voice wasn't so much of a voice of a voice anymore. It was more like a low, angry growl sort of thing. It'd be frightening if I was one to be frightened. I turned around. It was some blond haired kid, really. A little kid. His hair in a low braid. He was completely dressed in black, with the exception of the red coat that he had on. Beside him, there was a large metal suit of armor. A large, metal walking suit of armor.

_'I would run in with these two of all people! The Elric brothers?! This is just my luck!' _

Yeah, I knew who they were. I was with the one that they called 'Scar' all of the time. I had run into them one time or another. It was inevitable.

"Look, I'm not who you think I am. I'm not going to hurt anyone. I just need to go."

"Yeah, right." The sarcasm oozed in his voice as he placed his hand over his left arm, it turned to a sword. He came at me with that thing.

Knives and I- not the smartest situation in the world. We just didn't get along very well, really. It was a testy relationship. We just liked to hurt each other far too much for our own well being.

I dunked, though it was probably a little more that because the next thing that I realized, he was on the ground. And he was on the ground hard. I giggled on the inside, I really did. I didn't know that I could do something like that. I'd never done anything like that before. I was pretty amazed in my self. So amazed in myself that I didn't notice the little flash of black and green that flashed by the corner of my eye. But let me not ruin the story and put a damper on my own mood, shall we? Cause it was a very good feeling.

"Brother!" the seven foot tall tin one yelled. I made mind to keep away from him because he could have sat on me, and I would have died.

"Stay back Al," He stood back up, wiping the blood from his lip with the arm of his red jacket. "Okay... So, maybe I was wrong. You're still pretty fast."

"I don't want to hurt you, but don't get me wrong, I will." _'...If completely necessary and you don't kill me first, of course. If all of that works in my favor, then maybe. Maybe, I'll try to kill you._' The last part was thought, so he couldn't hear it. I hoped. I hoped he wasn't one of those alchemists that could read minds. I'd never heard of one, but nonetheless; I was border line insane and that was border line probable. But the entirety of this sentence was, of course, a lie. I probably couldn't hurt him if my life depended on it, and, at this point in time, it did.

He came at me once more. Somehow, I got his arm pinned behind his back. Don't ask me how this happened, but it did. Utterly amazing. It almost made me smile on the outside.

"What the-?!" he shouted out.

I was just as surprised as he was, but that didn't show on my face luckily enough. Not that he ever saw my face, because I had his arm pinned behind his back.

(In the notebook that this auto-biography (if you could call it that) was originally written in there are large, angry words written in the margin of this page which state 'THIS ISN'T FUNNY!'. In smaller letters next to it, penciled in, it states, 'Actually, it pretty much is. Hahaha haha'.)

"Listen. I'm going to leave. You are going to pretend as if you never saw me. No one here ever saw me." I whispered emotionlessly in his ear.

"You can't be Scar. He wouldn't just run away." He was angry. He was more than angry. This was pretty close to the most pissed off that he had ever been at me (but not quite).

"If you only knew." I jumped up on one of those crates, then another and after about two more I was at the top of this building. I ran. Fast as hell. Hell on wheels I would think that they called it.

_'I have to get out of the city. Of course. So brilliant.'_ I mentally hit myself in the head for that one. _'State the obvious why don't you?'_

Well, I couldn't go back to Mezran. He would be, in a word, pissed. And because I only used one word to describe it, I wouldn't waste more of time I do not have to waste.

_'Central? No, that's not even a semi-smart choice. East? Just left from there, smart one _(Yes, sarcasm is one of my strong points)_. South? The headquarters there… I think they have it out for me. Besides that gunslinger woman.' _I shuddered softly, _'Don't want to press my luck with her again. West? Is there even a West city? I think so, but I don't care about them. Why would I head for a military town?! So, one of the smaller desert towns will be good. Hopefully. They could believe that I just have a reeeeeally good tan. God, I'm so stupid. A waste of a once useful life force.'_

I don't know for how long I walked. Or how far. All I knew was that my legs hurt. Let me describe it for those of you who do not know the pain in which I am speaking of. It's like someone stabbing me- better yet- me stabbing myself in the kneecap with a knife and twisting. While the blade is on fire. Needless to say, I tripped. Usually, I would get up and start running again, this time I didn't. I didn't have that strong will that was so recognized in me and my mother before me. I didn't have the strength to want to carry on any longer, as ridiculous as I know that it sounds. I was hoping that if there was an Ishbala, she or he (depending on who you spoke to. The ones who thought that 'she' was a 'he' had a few issues) would strike me where I lay. But, alas, I had no such luck.

I _never_ had that much luck. It's pretty obvious if I do say so myself. I do.

So, I lay there, in the middle of the desert, hoping for a death that never came. My knees on fire and my vision blurred. This may have seemed bad, but it was nothing compared to what happened next.

I don't know how long I was out or where I was when I woke up. All I knew was that something around me had went very wrong for the people that surrounded me were not people at all. Something much more deadly than that. I was always more open to the impossible right after waking up from a long sleep.

"It seems that the little Ishballian has woken up, Lust." I heard a boy -maybe girl- like voice say.

"It seems that he has," a tall woman with perfectly waved hair said.

"What's your name?" the owner of the first voice said. He was tall, dark green hair, but it appeared brown at the moment and almost looking like a palm tree. His own red eyes made mine look as if they were a dull brown. It was more than a phenomenon.

"Kristoph." It seemed as if my voice wasn't my own. I knew that I wouldn't have been able to speak to these sins- I hadn't know this at the time but I soon came to the realization- with so much courage, that I had missed in my everyday life.

"Hm. Kristoph? That name will do I guess," He brushed some of the pale gray hair from my eyes. "You have nice eyes. Such a pretty red color, but not quite like mine _yet_."

"Envy. Not yet. I need to talk to h-him."

_'How right you are, that you need to talk to me, lady. What the fuck is going on?!_' I had not the courage to say this out loud, but in my head I was safe, or so I thought.

This woman leaned down onto the bed unto which I had been laid and staring me straight into the eyes said, "And I will be talking to you when the time comes. Just learn to be patient, little one."

And I stared back at her. She was familiar. She was so familiar. It was as if I had known her before. As if I had seen her before. Her eyes seemed to connect with mine in a way that I had not connected to anyone's since Rison. She didn't seem as if she was just looking at me. It was as if she was looking into me. As if she was reading me like a book. My safe guard was being put down already. Because the second that I looked into her eyes I was compelled to do what ever she wanted. It was almost as if she were the great mariner and I some lowly party guest that got caught in a passing glance. For the first time in such a long time, I was frightened. I was genuinely frightened and I had no idea why.

"Don't worry we're not going to hurt you. I just think that you may be rather helpful to us when it comes to getting closer to Fullmetal." She rested her freezing fingers on my jaw. She was so cold. There was no possible way that she was even human. She was much too cold for there to be running blood in those veins. Our eyes were still locked. While I made sure that mine held no sort of emotion at all, hers did. She held this sort of passion that for some reason, I couldn't let myself even begin to attempt to understand. It was as if she was calling out to me. But she wasn't. She never did. I was sure that if there was ever a time that she had, I would have answered her call, happily. She never did.

"What use would I be there? I believe that you are confusing me with someone I am not." I said, where this courage to speak was coming from I knew not, but it was certainly there then. I wish that it would have crippled it's self and died. Alas, it didn't.

"No. I believe I have exactly the person I wished to talk to." Her voice cracked a little, which was completely the most odd emotion that I had ever seen out of this woman, "Unless you are not Kristoph Mistan, 18-year-old resident of the now destroyed city of Ishbal. And if you aren't and I did make a mistake," her voice faltered quite a bit yet again and then regained it's strength, "which I doubt, we can't let you go anyways because you now know who we are. So, by force of keeping our identities secret, I would have to give you to my friend Gluttony here."

I looked over her shoulder and to the table where Envy was sitting. There was a rather large man, with his tongue drooping from his mouth. I shuddered not only from his appearance but also from the little amount of clothing that he was wearing for the excess amount of skin that he indeed had. Maybe I was being a bit harsh to this man because I knew him not, but at this time I wasn't thinking of this, I was too busy hoping that it didn't eat me. Was I stupid? Was I that out of my mind? How had I not noticed him before? Wow. That was a new level of stupidity that I had achieved right there. A cut above all of the rest.

I didn't notice for a while, but the entire time that I was conscious, the boy's eyes were on me. His brightly intense eyes remained on me the entire time that I remained in his presence. I wasn't one to allow myself to become scared. My emotions were one of the few things that my father or Merzan or my memories- my emotions were the only thing that they couldn't control. They were all my own. If I didn't let them show, they wouldn't. If I didn't want them to be completely obvious, they wouldn't. I used to allow my emotions show freely, once a long time ago. In a better time, you could call it. It was my control complex. No, it wasn't healthy. Nor did I care. I did plenty of things that were unhealthy. It didn't keep me from doing it. And emotions often kept me from doing what I was assigned to do. More times than not, my missions were all that I had. More times than not, if I didn't perform and finish that mission I was to be killed.

"Yes, _of course_ I am Kristoph Mistan. Don't eat me." I said nervously, moving slightly closer to the door.

"You're not going to get away from us if we don't want you to." Envy said standing.

"Yeah, uh huh, I understand that by now. Mmhmm."

"You're cute when you're scared."

Yes, Envy just called me cute. If I wasn't creeped out previous to then, then I most definitely was at that point. I didn't say anything after that.

"Go away, Envy. You've frightened the child into not speaking."

"It's not my fault if he's adorable." he said walking over to the door of the cabin.

"Now... Little Ishballian, you _will_ help me. I think that it would be easy for you to get close to Elric, considering the bounty on your uncle's head and your likeness to him."

"How do you-"

"Oh we know a lot about you. More than you'd think." Envy spoke up. I was quiet again. These people knowing a lot about me was not the high point in my life.

"Now... If you went to East headquarters and turned yourself in, I think that it'd be more likely for Elric to get used to you there."

"You want me to waste my life away in prison for you? I don't even know you." Here was that courage again. I hated it. It needed to cripple it's self and die.

"Oo, spunky."

"Don't worry. You won't rot there. We'll be there to get you out as soon as we get word that you have befriended the Elrics. And with that you will get a new identity. No one will ever know that a Kristoph Mistan existed. And you'll be off scotch free to do what you wish with the rest of your life." she said looking at her nails.

"How do I know that you're not lying?" I said sitting up and bringing myself closer to the wall.

"Cautious, aren't you? I suppose that is reasonable considering that no one would trust a sin." Envy looked over at us curiously I would suppose that it was. My eyes landed on the floor. Lust took my chin and forced me to look at her.

"Listen to me and listen to me well. You know not the power that I possess and the hell that I can make your life if you don't. We are homunculi."

I had figured this out before they said anything about it. I may act as if I am an idiot but I can see basic facts. Especially when I was supposed to hate these things.

"I think that he knew that, Lust. He's not a dumb boy." Envy said flicking his wrist in an uninterested fashion.

"Quiet, Envy. I know that he's not ignorant. That's exactly the reason that I chose him to do this. Now shh. Quiet. You have to sleep and get ready for the days ahead." She laid her hand on my hair and soon left the room with Gluttony at her side.

"It's a shame what's going to happen to you." Envy said walking over to me.

"W-what's going to happen to me?" I asked.

"I can't tell you. But you will be a nice new addition."

"A new addition to what?!" I was getting frustrated.

"Getting a little testy there, aren't you? So many questions and so little time. It really is too bad. I like your little innocent routine. Come on. There's got to be a little bit of evil tucked in there somewhere." He moved my head much more gently toward him. "That's strange. There's hardly any sin in you at all. A small amount of wrath but that's expected from anyone. You're lucky that curiosity isn't a sin or you'd be damned. So innocent it could almost be considered sickening." He ran his cold fingers over my face. I nearly shuddered under his touch. "No envy? How can someone live without envy? That's ridiculous. And not any Lust either..."

His lips grazed softly over my own, and he turned and left the room. This was only the beginning; much worse was going to happen. And none of it was going to be any good.


	4. Chapter 3

I don't own FMA.

--

Excerpt from the Journal of Colonel Roy Mustang

"Excuse me, officer," she said me. She wasn't very tall, no. And it was odd how even on this hot of a day she covered her face with a hooded shawl protruding over her long hair. She looked familiar, almost as if I had seen her before. But no name or situation had come to mind of where, perhaps, I had seen her before, so I shrugged it off as she simply having a common face. This was a mistake, yes. "There's a man back there. Sort of tall, he has a scar on his face sort of an 'x' shape. He sort of looked suspicious like he's doing something he shouldn't."

"A scar you say? Havoc." I said looking back and motioning for the orange haired idiot to come over to me.

She disappeared without another word. I wonder to my self why, at that time, that wasn't suspicious of her at all. It's insane the crimes that were allowed to get accomplished under our own noses.

Journal of Kristoph Mistan 

She killed him.

I did not want to be involved in this. I did not want to be labeled as a murderer.

My insides went cold already, and I hadn't lifted a finger to neither help nor harm.

I was an innocent.

"Scar!" was growled in my general direction.

I turned my head, "Yes?" I answered to the name. This was my first mistake. Well, second. Looking like him was my first. No... Getting involved with the devils themselves was what eventually lead to my down fall.

Three dogs of the military. A dark haired man, another with slightly orange-ish shade of hair, and a third was tall, overly-muscular and the only hair on his head was a swirl of blonde hair on top.

The orange haired man bent down to the fallen soldier and checked for his pulse. When there was none, he looked over at the leader (a.k.a. Mustang) and said, "H-He's dead, sir."

The dark haired one looked at me menacingly. I would have been nearly intimidated had I had the time to be. I didn't have the time though because in that same second, he snapped his fingers and fire engulfed around me.

_'Shit. Shit. Shit.' _I thought. I kneeled on one knee and quickly drew a circle in the dirt. A solid wall shot from the ground, as I attempted to pat out the flames that had started to singe my shirt.

Damn, did I hate Mondays.

I quickly drew another circle and the ground formed a stair step formation. I ran up those stairs, which were only three-fourths of the way up that building. I had to jump the rest of the way. I nearly stumbled off the roof but finally maintained my balance. I looked on either side of my shoulders hesitantly.

'_Shhhiiiit...either I jump the buildings, or go back down there with those people who are likely to kill me. I guess I have to jump'_' I thought to myself. '_One... Two... Three...'_ I did jump... Word of advice to anyone soon to attempt to jump off a four-story building and jump to another one 6-or-so feet away, don't. And slap your self for thinking about it. Needless to say I fell a foot short. I don't remember anything for a while after that. I think I must have fallen on my head.

Journal of Edward Elric 

Scar sat there in that cell. He was sitting cross-legged, his hands folded and laying on the ground. The size of the room, the dirt, how long he'd been in there without food, nothing seemed to be bothering him. He moved from this position only once to stretch his legs.

"Brother, didn't Mustang say that he was using alchemy? S-Scar can't use alchemy though... I thought that it was just his arm." My younger brother said. He was frightened. I could tell by the way that his voice broke.

"He can't. Why was he caught so easily? Why isn't he trying to get out of here? And why is he so calm during all of this? No one is this calm when they are about to be killed." I responded. He made me nervous. Having this man around made me nervous.

"I don't know. Has anyone talked-"

"They've attempted to. He doesn't say a word. Hasn't since he's arrived here." another voice said.

"Furor." Al said taking a step back.

"I see that you've been watching him, Fullmetal."

"Yes, sir," I gave him a two finger salute. "I can't figure it out. This Scar that Colonel Mustang caught, no matter how many state alchemist go in there, he says and does nothing. Does that seem like the Scar that killed over 15 state alchemists in the last three years? Sir."

"You're right. Maybe I should talk to him." he said placing his hand on his chin.

"I don't believe that will be very wise. Although he hasn't killed anyone since he's arrived, that doesn't mean that he wouldn't kill the Furor if the chance arrived." the metal form of my younger brother.

"I think that I'll take my chances, Alphonse." he opened the cell door and shut it after him.

"Do you think that that's safe, brother?"

"I doubt it."

Journal of Kristoph Mistan

Furor Bradley came in, leaning up against the door. "Kristoph."

"Pride, old man." My eyes didn't move from the floor, and I didn't move from that same position. It was almost as if I was a statue. Stuck there in that permanently hunched stature for what seemed to me as if it was the rest of eternity. It may have well have been.

"Seems that Lust was right. You are nothing like Scar. Too quiet, much too calm. It's almost frightening to those attending to you."

"Mm."

"I think that you need to be a little more...convincing."

"I say I don't. If I don't say anything, I don't believe that I have a problem."

"You're making the Elric brothers think that you aren't Scar at all."

"I think that that's good, too. How can I befriend him if he thinks that I am the person that has killed so many of his comrades? He can't. If he thinks I'm somebody else, it'll be a lot easier."

"You do have logic. I will talk to you again soon." He left the cell. I hadn't moved the entire time. It was getting hard to stay still and think about absolutely nothing.

Journal of Edward Elric

"What did he say?" I asked.

"Nothing..." he sighed, "I think he's about as stubborn as they come. Perhaps, you should try your luck."

"Furor, I think that you put me in that situation, to be alone in a room with him, I'd kill him... Sir."

"It was merely a suggestion. Contact me if there is any improvement." He merely walked away as if this situation were mere child's play, not to be regarded to as anything important. It was frustrating, trying to understand the man's logic.

Later on, I began to fully understand why the Furor was acting so nonchalantly in a situation in such dire need of attention. Although at that point in time, I don't think that I fully understood anything. Although I hated to admit it, I was left completely in the dark until things had already ripped from the seams and I could do nothing except make matters worse. I was completely and utterly more helpless than a child. A child at least knew what situations to avoid when they saw them. While I, being the idiot that I was back then and still am to this day, plummeted head first into the situation that I knew would cause death. I made a mistake right off the back.

I hated that more than anything that I could imagine.

"Do you really think that he was serious?" I hated the way Al's voice sounded when he was thinking hard about something. Even more so when he was thinking hard about something that I had done or was soon to wrong. He always managed to sound so disappointed in me. It was almost crippling. It's a good thing that I took him for granted back then. If I hadn't, I would have been crippled from the start.

I nodded, "He was." I sat in the chair next to the cell.

"Do you think that you should go in there?"

"I'd kill him Al, and he'd more than deserve every instant of it. But I can't do that."

"I'm going to go find Winry..." My younger brother, over the years, had gotten so much quieter. I missed the old us so much. I missed little Edward and Alphonse Elric, those lovable kids. We were so different such a few years ago.

"Right." I wasn't really paying attention. I kept thinking about what the Furor had said, in a mild to severe state of disbelief.

'_Hughes. Really after Hughes they want me to go in there? After what happened to him? Gracia? Elysia? But this shouldn't be personal. This is my job. I'm nothing more or less than a military dog. Designed to follow orders without thought or compassion. I'm just a pawn._' I glared at that door. I glared through that door.

I'd wished, on that man, more than death many times. More than anything good that death could manage to offer. No, he deserved to live and suffer just as everyone else did. He needed to feel the pain that everyone else had to feel because of his actions. Watching everything he knew and cared for to fade away into dust.

Yet, he already had.

From what I heard, rumors, purely rumors, (Soon after, completely unexpected to me and all around me at the time, with the exception of one, they were all found to be, in fact, true.) Scar had seen his brother's wife die, then his brother and was cursed with that arm. Those two were all that he had left. And then, his city, his homeland, his people died, too. Wiped out fully by the military and knocking his people into the brink of extinction. Killing any hope that may have once been alive.

But fighting fire with fire only leads to more mayhem. It didn't make past actions any more or less right. The blood of more of the innocent didn't make the blood of murders equal. Half of the people that were military personnel now, they wouldn't have helped in Ishbal back then. Most were killed. Most had gotten their retribution. But Scar… to him none of this was equality. None of this was equal to the pain that all those that had been unfortunate enough to survive this massacre had to endure. The repression they got from the military was uncanny compared to anything that I had ever heard about. He was almost right… Nothing made up for that.

And, sadly enough, I knew that much. I knew at least some of the pain that came with losing all of those around you. But Winry's eyes that day had shown it all. All that I never needed to know about war. And in that instant, when I saw her like that, I felt my heart shatter into a million pieces.

I took the handle in my grasp and yanked the door open. It creaked softly as it opened fully. He was still sitting in the exact same position. The door started to creak more and slammed shut on its own.

He looked up, and for a brief instant, it didn't look like Scar. More delicate features. His face all together appeared more feminine.

His eyes were the same. They still had that same exact hatred that he had seen in that man's eyes the first day of meeting him, on the steps of Central's military library. They were so hardened that one could hardly see the color of his eyes because they were too distorted. One was so distracted by that hatred that it seemed impossible to look away. But his eyes seemed almost to glint fire when they were in the small lighting of the room. The deep red color almost scared me the first time that I saw them. I almost felt my heart stop because I was seeing something that I'd only dreamt of in nightmares.

This man...he scared me.

His hair was nearly the same. It had grown and was covering his eyes. His clothing was dirty. His normally golden skin was dark brushed. Thick lines of black and dug in nail markings, revealing crusted blood, covered the arm of his burden...the arm that controlled him in a sense. It almost appeared as if he was attempting to claw off the arm with every fiber left in his being and had failed in every attempt. It was odd. I almost felt pity for him, seeing him so pathetic and weak. It was completely opposite of every other time that I had seen him.

"You're Hagane. The legendary prodigy State Alchemist, _little_ Edward Elric." The voice was also more feminine, though it was hardly notable at the time. Although I couldn't see his face clearly, I could almost hear the cold-hearted sneer in his voice.

"And you're Scar, mass murderer of military personnel. Quite an honor right there." I muttered in a bitter, sarcastic tone. If hatred could have been felt through words, he would have been the single most hated man in all of the land.

He didn't really nod or do anything, just diverged his eyes so they were back at looking at the ground. It was odd. Usually, Scar managed to stare you down until you felt your heart drop and your blood begin to run cold, almost as if he was killing you with only his eyes. But now...he couldn't even manage to look me of all people in the eye? There was something wrong there, and I was surprised that I didn't notice it at the time. I was too wrapped up in my own anger to begin to think out side of the box for even a second.

"If you truly are Scar, and you have such hatred for State Alchemist, then why don't you kill every one that walks through that door?" I nearly barked at him. My voice was malicious, a strong contrast to his anomalously calm one.

"Think about what you just said. I am in the middle of a building full of you Dogs. If I was to kill one, do you think that I would get out of here alive? No. I wouldn't. I'm not as stupid as you take me for, _idiot_," he paused for a few instants before saying, "Besides maybe I want to turn over a new leaf."

"You wouldn't." Snide comments were my specialty back then.

"You're not me. How do you know what I want to do?" he questioned in a childish manner. It was almost as if he was testing me to see if I would lose my temper. It was working quite well.

"Because of that arm." I said shortly.

He moved his left arm over the right; he placed his dirt-covered hand over the sleeve, pulling it softly up to his shoulder. The instant that he began to move, I shifted into a defensive position. As I have stated before, this man scared me close to my death. Instead of even acknowledging my movement, he ignored it. He ran his fingers over the dark markings and the cuts deep in his skin. "I never wanted this. Call it a curse, if you must." His voice was quiet, calm and shaking ever so slightly. This was worse than any yelling and arguing that he could have done. He was reminding me of Al.

How could this man that I hated- loathed, despised, detested, take your pick of words- remind me in the _slightest_ of the only person in my life that had been there for me whole-heartedly and remained loyal _to me_ even when I messed up, as I often did? How was I even able to make the comparison between this monster, this committer of the most heinous of crimes and my little brother, whom was possibly the most innocent creature left on this God-forsaken planet?

And I wasn't able to provide explanation for that. I couldn't explain to myself why my mind had done such a bizarre thing. Maybe some part of my subconscious was in the deep belief that, this man, although he had killed so many, was no more or less innocent than my own flesh and blood, and that perhaps he was just attempting to correct the past wrongs that had been done unto him, just as Al and I were doing for ourselves. Maybe I was attempting to convince myself that he was no more of a monster than me.

Perhaps, I was the worse of us two. He was working out of revenge. He was avenging those whom had died in an unjust war. He almost had a righteous cause. I did what I did purely out of greed. I wanted my mother back, and I had given up my brother's body to do so. Perhaps, I was more monster than Scar had ever had been.

But these thoughts were buried far, far, _waaaay_ back in my subconscious. I didn't discover them myself until years after this incident.

After that, he stayed quiet. He answered no more questions. He continued to have his gaze on that arm.

For some reason, in a split second, he began to believe that nothing else needed to be said. So on his end of the spectrum, nothing else was said. I became extremely flustered and even angrier, and as I turned to walk out the door, I heard a shuffling. He had stood up, stretching his legs for the first time in what had to have been weeks upon weeks. He was far more than a head taller than me, meaning I came hardly up to his shoulder. It was degrading honestly.

He muttered a few things under his breath in a language that I couldn't understand. I remained looking at him with a crazed expression on my face.

He looked up at me, brushing his long, white hair from his eyes. The look that he gave me, it was almost frightening. He began his little speech of sorts, "You know of the war in Ishbal. Of course you do. You _are_ in the military, but do you know the truth of what happened in Ishbal? No..." he paused and released a heavy sigh, "You didn't see it with your own two eyes. You didn't see the death and destruction that was caused there. A little kid. Imagine, would you? Just out looking for his sister. He was less than your age, now that I think back on it... Probably barely older than your own younger brother."

At first I had no idea how he knew about Al, but of course I wasn't thinking clearly and had forgotten of all the stories that were told about us back then.

He continued still, "Shot down like he wasn't human. Like he was merely a dog, not worthy of respect from other lives. Like he was an insurgent in some land where he didn't belong. But he was on his own home soil. Now, imagine...seeing it with your own two eyes. Imagine watching your flesh and blood die, Hagane. Blood of innocents are spread over that God forsaken land. You couldn't even begin to imagine." His eyes didn't look so vibrant with passionate hatred as they had before. They didn't have the same crazed gleam to them. The look in his eye changed so suddenly that it was unfathomable for me to explain at that time what had happened.

I honestly didn't know whether to believe him or not. Most murders lied. So where was my proof that at this point in time, he wasn't flat out lying to my face? Where was this proof that I needed? Until he provided that I had no reason to believe him. But the look that passed over his face. It was almost as if he was reliving a horrible nightmare. For the first time since I had been in that room, he was the one that was showing over-powering emotions, not me. It was odd, and I felt the urge to believe him, even though all my good senses were leaning against it. Of course, my "good" senses never seemed to work out in my favor.

My eyes widened because I sort of knew how he felt. I'd never before seen Scar as human. He was simply a killing-machine previous to then. I didn't expect for him to be able to harbor the same feelings at his brother's death that I had been able to feel at Al's.

I'd simply never allowed the idea that maybe he was righting past wrongs when he did what he did. He was simply trying to make things right in his own mind and not thinking about the feelings of others.

In that instant, he reminded me of myself. He'd gone from reminding me of Al to reminding me of me. It reminded me of the way that I had destroyed the hopes of the entire city of Lior because I believed that maybe my brother would have been able to have his body back. In that sense, Scar was no different from my self; although, never, in a hundred million years, would I have had admitted that to anyone but myself.

"Why? Why would the Furor do that? Why would he have his men willingly kill those who have done no wrong?" I had difficulty remaining at a calm tone. I didn't expect to care so much about what had happened in a time many years before I even understood what was going on. The military had been fragmented from the start. Ishbal did not start that. It had merely excelled the process.

"I've wondered the same thing." He walked to the bed that was chained to the wall. He lay on the bed, his arms folded over his chest. He didn't say another word. His eyes were shut. I could tell because there was no glint from the light onto the whites or even the red of his eyes. I was lead to believe, at that time, that he fell to sleep. Later on, I began to doubt that he did

I remained standing although my legs felt weak. I knew that a lot had gone on in Ishbal and the military wasn't proud of it, or they wouldn't have kept it under wraps like they did.

But how? How bad was it really? Why was it started? Why didn't the military stop when they had the chance? Why did they let it go on for so long?

I walked up the decrepit staircase of the east wing. It creaked with almost every step. (I did have a strong eye, in this case ear, for detail and my memory is still fully intact.) I made my way down the hallway, eventually making it to the main door of this hallway, the office of a Colonel Roy Mustang, class A asshole. At least he (usually) had class when he insulted me. I rapped on the door with my knuckles. My tapping only quickened and hardened every time my call wasn't responded to.

The Colonel eventually said in an extremely aggravated and annoyed tone, after a long and drawn out sigh, "Come in." He looked up as I opened the door and a look of annoyance and disgust agreed with his tone, "Fullmetal, what is it?"

At that point, I began to understand his eminent dislike of me, and it was heart-warming. It was a beautiful thing knowing that I annoyed him so much.

"What happened in Ishbal?" I said as bluntly as a statement had ever before been uttered, with the exception of the way that I had spoken to Scar.

He looked away, and his eyes seemed to glaze over, as if thinking about something, "It is none of your concern. The past is the past. No use in droning on about it," he said nonchalantly.

"It does if it is effecting what I have to do now," I responded, cattily.

"What is with this sudden interest in Ishbal?" He asked, almost as bluntly as the first thing that I had said, but in a mildly more annoyed tone.

"It has something to do with Scar, and I know exactly how. I just want to hear that you messed up from your own mouth. So, go on. Spill."

"Scar is not your problem. He's mine."

I scowled at him, annoyed to the point of hating him almost as much as he hated me. "How does it feel to have the blood of innocents on your hands, Colonel?"

His face fell from an aggravated one to emotionless. He didn't respond to the question and I stormed out of the office in a worse mood than I ever had with the exception of one time...

But that is a completely different story...


	5. Chapter 4

I don't own FMA.

--

Journal of Kristoph Mistan

I don't know exactly what happened during that conversation with Elric. I just stopped talking. I didn't even know why. But the few sentences I said before he left seemed to get to him. Like he hadn't been able to believe it.

I pulled the dirt covered ponytail holder from my hair. I hadn't noticed how long it (as in my hair, not the ponytail holder) gotten. It was almost to my shoulder blades. I don't think I even remember how long I was in there. With no windows it was hard to keep track of the days. But it seemed as if it had been years. Years upon years.

This room was, except for when they opened the door, was only slightly lit. A small window allowed a slight glimmer of golden light to stream through the bars. A light was held over in the corner. It had been forgotten by the furor earlier that day; he had placed it nearly out of my reach. Not that I quite had the will to go after it. I wanted to sleep, but I didn't trust this place. That's why I didn't eat. If they really thought that I was Scar then they would do anything that they would to kill me if they were pissed off enough, which I imagine that most of them were.

Not saying that I didn't eat at all. That's impossible. I would have died, which wouldn't have been completely unfathomable. I mean that no one would really care nor would I get the extremely surprised or sad or angry mix of emotion, but nonetheless. There was one person who truly didn't think that I was who I said I was. He was the only one that asked, instead of just assumed. I don't know. I think I liked him more than anyone at that time. He was almost able to gain my trust utterly and completely.

I didn't know what to do with all of this silence. I think I was losing grip on reality. I hated the dark. I wasn't scared of the dark; I just didn't like it since the first day of the war.

I remembered I was walking with Rison. He had to go pick his little sister up from school, I guess. No, I knew. I knew like it was today. I couldn't forget.

"Hey Ris?" I said, looking over at him.

"Yeah?" The blue eyed, basically brother to me, said. His voice was always so nonchalant, so laid back and uncaring. I on the other had had always been tense, too aware for comfort. It was like he was my alter ego. My completion.

"You heard about this war we're supposed to have with the military?"

"Ah, it's a load of bull. Least that's what my Dad said. Those Dogs don't have the guts to do nothin'." He didn't even care. He just yawned and shook it off saying "_whatever_" like he might do to school work or cleaning his room. I loved that about him. While I was worrying about everything, he worried about nothing.

"We don't know that. We've never had to fight anything before really."

He shrugged. We were walking pass my house right then.

"You two. In here. Now." my father said. His eyes seemed more distressed than I had even seen them. And I'd seen him really bad. Really, really bad.

"Mistan-san, I have to go pick up Sheriece." he said. His voice usually got really quiet when he was around.

"That's not important! Get in here!" he shouted.

"That's my little sister! She is too important!" he yelled.

"Father... Don't get mad. He just has to pick her up first. We'll be right back." My voice was always wispy when his was strong. My personality was tucked away into a corner when Father was around. The thing was I didn't… I didn't mind so much.

"No. Both of you get in there and hide. I'll go pick up Sheriece. Just stay right here." he had attempted to calm himself down. Since I'd been born, since Mother, he'd been doing a much better job at that or so I'd heard. It didn't seem that way to me.

"Come on." I took Rison's arm and lead him into the house.

"He's never acted like that before..."

"You've never acted like that before."

"I know. Why did he say hide?"

"I don't know, but I don't think that it's going to be too good."

The two of us went and sat in the closet, trying to be as quiet as possible. I think he fell asleep, I could almost hear him snoring as he leaned against my arm. But as soon as I moved a centimeter he sat up and looked around.

"How long have we been in here?" he said after who knows how long.

"I don't know," I stuck my head out of the closet door. It was dark. I could actually see the stars in the sky. "Come on." I whispered as I stepped out of the closet.

"Do you hear that?" he said as he followed. It sounded like Death it's self. Little did I know, I was right.

"A gunshot."

"What is going on..." he murmured. This is the first time it seemed like he cared in a while, but then again the topic of guns always got him interested. He walked to the door of the house.

Another gunshot. Much closer this time. I felt the warm liquid on my face; it ran down my lips and was making me sick to my stomach. The droplets fell to the ground in such an unorganized way...

How had this happened? That quick? No time for '_goodbye_.' No time for the _'I'm sorries_' or the _'I'll miss yous_.' Maybe it was better that way? If I had gotten the chance, I would have never in a hundred millennia's have been able to let him go.

I felt my body slip to the ground, as if I had been the one shot.

"Ris... Rison get up. This isn't funny." I whimpered next to my fallen friend, but in my heart I knew the truth. I slipped my arms around his neck and laid my head to his chest.

'Why? Why now?' I never knew. Never found out a reason that was good enough.

Somehow bringing back a woman that I didn't know, that I couldn't remember, didn't seem equivalent to the life of my best friend. The only person that stopped long enough to care about anything. To care about me.

He was dead. That bullet to his head had done him in. I ran my fingers across my forehead, down my nose, across my cheeks. It smeared, and stained my fingers. That color that was going to haunt my dreams that day on.

I felt my chest heave in and out in an increasing rate, like I was hyperventilating. I felt sick. His blood had drenched my clothes.

I wanted it to be fake. To be a dream. A nightmare. That I'd wake up and he'd be sitting there. Next to me. Smiling like always. Being the stupid kid that I'd always known. Why couldn't it just be a stupid nightmare? Why did life have to hurt more badly than a dream ever could?

That man...he was still standing there, in a state of shock. His eyes were as dark as coal as was his hair. He was wearing the clothes of the military, the cloth of dogs. On his hands were white gloves. The right one marked in an alchemy symbol, the other marked in blood. His eyes were wide as if he couldn't believe that he had been capable of such evil.

I think what got to him more than anything, and made me feel even sicklier than I had before, was Rison. Rison. His eyes. They remained open as if looking at the man that had ended his life so young.

He stared at me, wishing I hadn't been there, wishing that I hadn't seen it, wishing that he didn't have to end the life of another child. Another innocent. He brought the gun up level with my eyes.

I stared back at him, wishing that he would do it faster. But he could have never killed me fast enough.

Looking back, I realize that there was little that I could have done to save him unless I had seen it coming, which I didn't. But, back then, I didn't care. So, back then, I blamed myself. I thought that I didn't want to live after seeing that. I didn't want to be alone. Nobody else that I knew cared like Rison had and it would be -and was- an almost unbearable task to move on from my life in Ishbal. I almost died multiple times along the way.

The gun remained pointed at my head. As he spoke his voice quivered, "W-why are you here? Where are your parents?"

"This is my house..." I managed to whisper.

"W-who was he?" he had lowered the gun to his side, and looked at Rison.

"His name is Asumari Rison. He is thirteen, he was just going to pick his little sister up from school," my eyes were glazed over; I would have hardly noticed that he was there if I hadn't been speaking to him. "Why'd you shoot him? What did he do?"

"Those were my orders. To exterminate the Ishballians."

"Then will you hurry up and, as you said, _'exterminate me'_ because every second you make me wait, the more I want to die."

After placing the gun back in the holster, he ran his hands through his hair. He looked at me. I managed to meet his gaze. I needed to memorize that gaze. I needed to memorize that face. He shook his head, softly muttering inaudible words under his breath and walked away, saying not another word to me. I needed to memorize that face for that would be the only face in the years to come that I wanted to kill. The only face I'd ever wanted to kill.

"KILL! ME! I'm not worth it without him! JUST! KILL! ME! I deserve it!" I shouted after him. "Please..." I whispered it.

Nothing seemed right after that. Nothing seemed to fit. Like life were just pieces of different puzzles trying to fit together. Never quite right, though we tried so hard.

I hated it. I hated crying. I hated this city. This war. The military. The Ishballians. They were all lower than dirt. They all deserved nothing more than death. But most of all... I hated myself. For not protecting him when he needed me. For not being there when he needed me most. For not being along side him in death… I hated than man –that face- for doing this to me. For ruining everything for me.

That was the face that walked in the door less than three minutes later.

I wasn't surprised. I probably should have been, but I wasn't. I had to be Scar-like, even if it killed everything that I was and it was managing that successfully.

"Scar. Resident of Ishbal?" He said. His voice hadn't changed much from what I heard when I was younger.

"Colonel Roy Mustang. Resident of Central city." I responded.

I hadn't moved from the position that I was in. I had to dig my fingers into my wrist to keep myself from attempting to kill him in what ever possible way. He had no idea of how he ruined my life. A combination of him and his comrades killed what ever hope for a normal existence.

They killed my life.

My hand hung limp, I must had struck a nerve or something of the sort. He had brought a lamp into the room. The light flickered over his face. With my right hand, the one that I hadn't momentarily paralyzed, I pushed some of the hair into my eyes. I think that he thought I was going to do something dangerous because the second that I moved he placed his middle and thumb fingers together.

"Do you really think that I am that ignorant? I wouldn't kill you in a building full of people who want to see me dead."

"It hasn't stopped you before." He tapped his fingers on the board, in a furious manner. He was mad that he even had to look at the me-Scar.

"Rison Asumari."

His eyes widened and he took a half step back. "What did you just say?"

I didn't respond. He knew perfectly well what I had said. If he hadn't he wouldn't have left the room in such a hurry.

He left the kerosene lamp burning on the table.

Excerpt from the Journal of Roy Mustang

That name. Rison. It was one of my first memories of the war in Ishbal. It had been a misfire.

I'd heard of all the people there that wanted us in the military dead. I was nineteen and a little jumpy. I was also a little bit trigger happy. But by the end of that massacre, I never wanted to be near a gun again.

I didn't know that a thirteen-year-old older brother would be the first person that I killed.

I hadn't _planned_ on killing anyone.

His hair had been dark brown. His eyes were greened to a pale shade. He didn't look Ishballian. The only way to tell he was was to look at his tanned skin.

I didn't know that another kid would have to see it all. I didn't even ask about that one's name.

It didn't seem important at the time. I didn't want to know about the child whose life I had ruined in the time that it would have taken to think over what I was doing.

I hated myself a little bit more at that point.

It only got worse when I held that gun up to the other boy's head. He just stared at me with red eyes that seemed to want to die. His face was blood covered. His clothes were blood covered. Everything about him seemed to be already dead. It hurt to look at him.

I asked him why he was there, where his parents were. He said that it was his house. I'd killed that boy, the one that must have been his brother, on in the door way of his own home.

His name was Asumari Rison. He was 13-years-old that day.

That's all I knew about him. That's all that I needed to know. That right there made me feel the worst I had ever felt in my life up until that point.

"Why'd you shoot him? What did he do?" That voice still bothers me at times. It's haunting in a way. Those questions, my response, and the last things that child said to me bothered me. Chilled me to the bone.

"Those were my orders. To exterminate the Ishballians." To this day I do not know what type of response that was to a boy of twelve, or thirteen, years old, whose brother had been killed right in front of his eyes.

He ran his fingers over his face, again, subconsciously. The blood smeared even more over him, as he said, "Then will you hurry up and, as you said, 'exterminate me' because every second you make me wait, the more I want to die."

I was shaking. I know I was.

I caused a child so much pain that he thought that he'd be better off dead. I was still pointing the gun to his head. I was still making him think that I was going to kill him. Still making him think that I was going to horrible misdeed again. I put the gun away. Brushing my hands through my hair, I stared at him.

He stared back at me. The pain was apparent in his eyes. The hatred was apparent in his eyes. The want and need to kill me was apparent in his eyes. That depressing sadness was apparent every time I looked at him.

"I'm sorry..." he couldn't hear me. "I can't kill you. I can't bring myself to do it. I didn't mean this any of it. It wasn't meant to happen like this. If this war is over as soon as possible we will all be so much better off." I stared at him again and shook my head, walking away.

My conscious was eating me so much that I couldn't kill him.

I vaguely heard the "Kill me! I'm not worth it without him! Kill me! I deserve it".

I just lied. I heard it thoroughly. It echoes in my mind. Unable to make escape. Unable to die… I couldn't do it. Was nineteen too young to end a second life?

No.

I had deliberately disobeyed orders. Why I couldn't have done it other times, I had no idea.

Why I couldn't disobey orders when it came to the Rockbell's lives? I don't know.

I was on duty... although it wasn't as if we were ever off in this war. About a year into it, and the casualties and injuries on either side were in the high thousands. It made me sick to think about it. The Rockbell's had made it their duties to help any and all wounded... no matter which side of the war they had come from. They were given direct orders to stop. To not continue on with what they were doing. To not help any of our enemies. To not help people live. This order they disobeyed… and it was given to me as a direct order to kill them. I couldn't refuse an order.

That kid.

That same kid was there again, being treated for a wound placed between his two eyes. Probably of mine and Armstrong's doing. Or Kimblee, that evil bastard. Most of his face was wrapped up. I could see the blood through the rag. It hadn't been changed lately. There were so many other people military or not, there simply hadn't been the time.

I didn't want to do this. But it was my job, my duty. I needed to be Furor to change all of this.

And this kid was there every time I attempted to give my self a small amount of accreditation by following wronged duties. This kid had become my conscious. Only showing up when I did something horrible...something unforgivable...something punishable by law. Except that I was the law, I was the military, and I don't think that made me human. It made me inhumane. It made me a legal murderer.

I stared at him, possibly in disbelief. How had he survived? Out of everyone, the thousands that had been killed, how had this one child survived? How had my conscience lived through all of the gore and hatred seeping out of bullet holes?

I'd opened my mouth to say something, but decided against it. He was staring, wide eyed, into that room. He was only there when I did something unforgivable, like I said.

I couldn't find the words to justify what I had done. They were my friends, my brothers in arms, and I'd killed them on an order. I'd killed so many on orders…

My thoughts were disrupted, thankfully enough, by Riza Hawkeye, my blond-haired savior in disguise, who would kill me if she ever heard me say that out-loud. That's what I loved about her. Her hatred of my personality only ran like water, however her love of my body went so much deeper. Yes, I am sexy.

"Colonel, sir! There is this insane woman outside claiming that the Scar that we have in our facility is not actually 'Scar'." She was clearly annoyed (I loved that, too), but managed to give a two-fingered salute.

"Because it's not! It's not Scar!" A voice yelled from outside the room. "I was pretty sure the military was stupid before, but this shows that I didn't even know the half of it!" It was a female. Her light purple hair tied back into a low ponytail and a grim look upon pretty features. Her eyes were a shade of dark purple, her skin unusually pale. How would she have any connection with Scar?

"Miss, if you would like to-"

"No! I would not like to what ever the hell you were going to say. That is not Scar!" 

"Miss, if you would like to talk to-"

"NO!" she shouted. Clinching her fist, she glared like a child might.

Even though I had hardly seen this girl for more than an instant, I could tell she remained a) incredibly annoying, b) childish and c) extremely persistent beyond belief, even if she was wrong. Clearly wrong.

"No. Okay, I can tell _and_ show you how this is not Scar!" She was calming herself down. She was doing a fairly bad job at it but she was attempting none the less. Her hand went toward the messenger bag at her side. Hawkeye's hand went to her gun. Hawkeye's had always went to her gun.

'_Sort of cute how she's so over protective of me! Probably because it's her job. But none the less, there's no need to burst my own bubble._' I thought happily, although this girl was acting very suspiciously.

She placed a picture on the desk. "This is Scar…" she said quietly, pointing to the picture. I was amazed that someone's voice could drop that suddenly.

Three people were in the picture. A man, just under Scar's current height, was smiling, although looking faintly exhausted and was slumped over. His hair was dark, covering his eyes. His skin was tanned like an Ishballian's was expected to be. A small child was at his side, a little boy, from the looks of it. A pouting look was covering his face...one like Elysia would have given to me or Hughes. The boy wasn't even looking into the camera, but I could tell that with his white hair, his eyes were bound to be dark red. The other came up to only the man in the middle's shoulder. That was Scar, only there was no scar on his face to identify him by. He was younger. He didn't even seem to have been sixteen yet. The most notable change that I could see was that he was more carefree looking, at least. There wasn't the same look of hatred on his face, instead it looked like he was almost about to laugh. I would have never expected that someone like Scar would allow himself to laugh freely.

'_But then again... I don't know who 'Scar' really is, do I?_' I stared at the picture for a few more seconds. '_That little kid. Who is it? Why the hell is he so familiar?_'

"This one," The girl pointed to the man that was in the middle. "This is Mattias. This kid is Kristoph. He's about four or five in this picture. And this one is Scar." She pointed at Scar. "Scar. Scar... Scar, Scar, Scar. Scar."

"I think we get the idea, Miss..." Riza said, the annoyed look still on her face.

"Just wanted to make sure. Scar." She pointed to the little boy, "Kris. Scar. Kris. Scar. You've got that, right? I know you're a little slow. Scar."

Hawkeye glared at the girl, and I know from experience, that this was not a good thing. She was prepared to shoot. I mouthed to her, "No. Don't do that. Bad Riza. Bad" She glared at me, and I looked back at my desk. That woman was scary sometimes.

The girl was searching through her bag for a couple of seconds, before pulling out another picture and placing it on top of the last one. I looked at her raising an eyebrow. She nodded down at the picture, "Go ahead. Look at it. Go ahead."

The two were standing back to back. Their alikeness was uncanny. Both having white hair, red eyes, tanned skin, scars from the top of their foreheads to the mid of their cheek in a half diamond shape (from a profile view). The one on the left, the shorter of the two, by about six inches or so, had black lines coming from the top of the scar down to behind the ears. The one to the right had an expression of annoyance and hatred on his face, while the left was more emotionless. That one also looked a lot younger than the other. "Hawkeye..." I said quietly, out of sheer amazement.

_'If this girl is right, I can kiss my career goodbye._' I thought sadly.

She looked at the picture. Her eyes widened slightly.

"Which one more resembles Scar? Come on. Come on. You're supposed to know this. Huh? Huh? Come on, Mr. Mustang!" Her voice was incredibly loud and annoying almost making me want for Riza to shoot her, but she had a point. We could, very possibly, still have Scar roaming the streets.

"That one." An arm came over the girl's shoulder and pointed at the one on the left.

"Havoc." I looked at him as if he was an idiot, which he was, but that's what made him so loyal.

"Who the hell are you?! And why you so close to me?! And why are you so stupid, and why smell like cigarettes?!" She screamed, clapping her hands over her ears.

Jean backed up with his hands by his ears and a surprised expression on his face. "I didn't touch her, Mustang! I swear." He said backing up.

"I know. Are you okay, Miss?" I asked sighing.

"Yeah. I'm fine. But you were wrong, anyways." She said pointing at Havoc. "This is Kristoph. What did I say earlier? Scar. Kris. Scar. Kris. Scar. You are wrong. Give me my Kris, now!" She stomped her foot.

"But, when we caught who you call 'Kristoph', he answered to the name Scar." The orange haired man pointed out.

"If you'd notice, during this entire conversation, if you were here," She glared at him, "never did I once call him smart. He just used to being mistaken as Scar, so he's come to answer by it. NOW!"

"Miss, you're going to have to stay in here with him. His name is Jean Havoc. If he tries anything tell me. I need to talk to my superior. Come along, _Colonel_." Riza said smiling politely. I was in for hell, in what I wanted to be in a mini-skirt.

_'She's going to rape me. She's going to murder me. And she's going to blame it all on Havoc. She's too damn good._'

"You caught. The wrong. Person?!" she ended her sentences after a couple words, because it was intimidating.

"He killed a man, Riza. Whether he is Scar or not, he killed that man. Not only that, but he ran when we attempted to talk to him and he answered to Scar." I managed to keep a calm tone of voice. How I managed it, I have no idea.

"And how many have you killed? I'm not attempting to justify his actions, but they were more than likely out of self-defense. He is thought to be Scar by every member of the military. Meaning that every member of this military has, at one point in time, attempted to kill him. And look at how similar he is to Scar. How many times would you guess that he has been called by that name?"

I honestly had no response because all of the points that she made were good ones. "The way that that man was killed... it was ruthless. It was like that boy, whom ever he is, killed him out of cold blood and nothing else."

"Well... your mistake, Mustang, caused an innocent little boy to spend five months in prison. How is that fair to him? Who the hell are you to say that that is okay? That it's just a mistake?"

I stopped. My voice went extremely serious, "You're right. I've made too many mistakes. And it's not fair that I've ruined his life. But the military has always done this haven't we? We've _always_ messed things up for others."

"Roy..." her voice was so quiet.


	6. Chapter 5

I don't own FMA.

And I hate this chapter.

--

Excerpt from the Journal of Jean Havoc

"So..." I said nodding at the girl. She had taken seat in Roy's chair and started spinning. Apparently, she was very immature.

"So..." she copied me. She spun in the chair faster before bringing her self to a complete stop. "Oh man. It's all spinning."

"Uh, yeah. Th-that's what happens... So, what's your name?"

"Miru Costire." She started spinning again.

"Oh, I'm Jean Havoc..." I paused, unsure where to take the very quiet conversation, "So, where are you from?"

"Rockwell." She stopped herself and looked up.

"And how old are you?"

"Why are you so interested?" She raised her eyebrows at me and I found myself looking away.

'_Okay, so yeah. She's cute. Really cute. Really immature, which makes her even cuter. Meaning that if I have to interrogate this girl, I'm screwed._'

"No reason." I said scratching behind my head and laughing nervously.

"Uh huh... I make you nervous. N-n-n-nervous." She said in a song-type voice.

"No, you don't."

I lied. She did. And did a damn good job of it. I don't know why. I'd known her all of 10-20 minutes, but she did. There was an awkward silence, and then gun shots coming from the hallway.

My first instinct was to jump under the desk because Hawkeye was coming. Her first instinct was to stand up and start saying loudly, "Hey, Havoc! What was that? It was a gun, right? Cool. I've-"

I capped my hand over her mouth and pulled her down, "Look. You may not be here long, but just so you know. When Riza starts shooting, get the hell down, if you care about your life that is."

"Uh huh. I'll get used to that one." She nodded up at me, "What can't get used to, on the other hand, is you smashing my pelvic bone, 'cause it sorta hurts."

I didn't even realize that I still had my arm wrapped around her waist from when I originally pulled her under the desk to get her away from stray bullets. "Oh... You can get used to this. I can."

She blew stray strands of hair from her face and looked at me in sheer annoyance, "I could..." _'Oh, yeah. She wants me. I am too easily influenced by Roy..._' "If I could breath! But I can't! So get off!"

"Hmm. That could be a problem." I said, nodding my head. This girl just seemed like one of those girls whose nerves I can get on pretty easily.

"Jeeean, pllllease?" she said pouting. "This is really hard to do without oxygen."

There was someone laughing, "I think I heard all I need to hear. Having fun down there, Havoc?"

_'Dear God, Roy is the only one who can catch me in these situations...Well and Hawkeye. But she doesn't count. They're one._' "It's not what you think, Mustang." I said pulling my head up over the desk. "We were merely hiding from the wrath of your angry girlfriend back there." I pulled my head back under the table just in time to miss my ear getting shot off. "I told you!" I said to the light purple-haired girl beside me. She was giggling, hysterically.

"How do you know what I'm thinking? What if I was thinking that the two of you were merely having a nice conversation, and Miru, being the person she is, fell out of my, as she calls it, 'spinny' chair?" He crossed his arms and looked down at the two of us, a playful sneer on his face.

"Because you're a pervert, Roy-kun. And perverts don't think like that. Oh no, you thought something more along the lines of Havoc and I were naked and-" Roy capped his hands over the girl's mouth, and shook his head.

"Miru?" Hawkeye said tapping her foot. Aa yeah, she was pissed.

"Roy-kun? Really? Aw, that's so cute. I'm gonna use it, Roy-kun." I was obviously more amused than she was.

"It's not what you think. Miru is my ex-partner." He attempted to explain over the muffled ramblings of the girl.

"What kind of partner? Like partner, like a work partner. Or 'Partner'." I said adding air quotes to the second one.

He looked at me as if I was a complete idiot. A look of sickness crossed his face, before he pulled his hand from her mouth, and looked back and forth between her and his hand. "That was disgusting beyond belief, Miru." He reached inside his jacket, and from the palms of nothingness, pulled out a handkerchief.

"Should've let go of my mouth. I thought you would have learned by now, damn it! And you still taste weird!" She licked her shirt as if wanting to get the taste of Roy out of her mouth.

Riza looked at the girl for a few seconds, "I remember you now. You were the-" She snapped her fingers for a few seconds, "head interrogation specialist, right? Mastered every aspect of the human psychiatric. Quite famous around here, Isolation. And then you quit."

"Oh! I'm remembered! I feel loved."

"Wait. Why couldn't you still be an alchemist? I could sleep with you and get a higher ranking." I whined.

"You could sleep with Roy and get a higher ranking." She put her hand on the side of her mouth that Roy was on and whispered to me, "He likes to sleep around with the wrong team if you know what I mean." She turned to Hawkeye, "It's okay. He's cheating on you with Hagane. Don't worry. He's not as pretty as you. He does have that really hot metal arm though. Maybe you should watch out. You have a gun, right? Yeah, you're set."

By this point in time, I was doubled over laughing. She was really calling Roy Mustang gay right in front of his face. Sure... Breda and I had called him gay with his back turned, but we were (mostly) just kidding.

"I AM NOT GAY! I DID NOT SLEEP WITH HUGHES!!!! DAMN IT! I'm going to murder you and stuff your body in the sewer, Costire." He yelled.

"Uh huh. And you and Maes coming out of that room together at the same time, both looking extremely 'shaken', mind you, that was a coincidence, right? Uh huh! That doesn't prove anything! Coughgaycough. Cough." Yes. I was amazed. She actually said the word cough.

"There was an earthquake!!" he shouted again.

"That did look really suspicious, Roy. She has a point." Riza smiled, almost laughing at the flustered man.

"I slept with you yesterday!" he shouted at her. Riza's face immediately flushed bright red.

"Oh my god, Riza's a man!" She gasped. "It all makes sense, now!" Miru saw the look on Hawkeye's face. "I was kidding! I was kidding! You're a very pretty girl, Riza! Woman! I mean, woman! He's bi, okay? He's bi! You're still a woman. Don't shoot me, please." She was bowing at the blond haired woman's feet.

I was sitting in the chair, trying to cover my face from getting hit again by Roy. I could not help but laugh. This girl. She was my dream girl! Perfection! I loved that. "Miru, I love you. Marry me." I said laughing. She was too busy laughing at Roy, who was attempting to start a flame without his gloves on, to even notice. _'I'm going to marry that girl one day._'

"Hey! You're the one who was sleeping with an 11-year-old little boy, Roy! They still believe in cooties back then you know!"

He paused from his attempts at strangling her, "Isn't Fullmetal 17?"

"Damn you Roy! How many 12-year-olds must you partake?! You like them young, don't you, Michael?!"

He glared at her and started to say "I will no-"

The door suddenly slammed open, "C-C-Colonel, sir!" Breda saluted quickly, "S-S-Scar has been sighted outside of the c-city, sir!"

"I told you! Now give me my Kris!" She said another pouting look crossed her face. An almost pained expression crossed Roy's. At this point I felt a little awkward and decided to take my leave.

Journal of Kristoph Mistan

I couldn't quite recall how long that I'd been in there. I didn't care. I should have gone back to prevent what was going to happen soon after. I fucked up bad. But that is a different story for a different time.

I couldn't help but think about how things had changed over the years...and yet it was nothing at all, really.

The feelings of hurt, betrayal, sadness... Those feelings had yet to leave my core. The hatred had, believe it or not. After blaming everything on me for so many years, it didn't seem as if it was supposed to be anyone else's problem. It was hard pretending. Pretending that I was something I wasn't. Pretending that everything was fine. Smiling through my tears. All of it was a lie, wasn't it- isn't it?

"What's your name, really?" The voice that I had come to know asked. It was quiet, almost like it wasn't even there. Echoing something that once was.

"Scar." I said quietly. He was persistent, never saying a harsh word or yelling like most. Just quietly persistent.

"I won't tell anyone, not even ani. I swear. You're not Scar, though. I know that much."

"Nan desu ka [what is it? Why do you care?" I muttered. No one since I'd left Ishbal, not one single person had taken the last piece of interest in me, or even pretended to for a second. And here where I was soon to be killed, this boy in a metal suit took all the interest in the world. I didn't understand it.

"Be-because, if you're going to be punished, why would it not be for your own sin? Why have it be for someone else's?"

I looked over at him. He seemed so young, so innocent. Had he really seen the evils this world had to offer? He didn't act like it. It was odd how mature he seemed at such a young age.

He made a noise that sounded like his words had been caught in his throat. He wanted to say something, I could almost tell by the way that he was shifting and turning his face away. When he hit against the chair, it echoed. It was hallow in there. There was nothing. I had thought that from the first time I'd seen him.

"I had a name once. My sin killed it. I'm serving my time for my crimes." I was really turning into Scar. Everyone telling me that I was, talking to me like I was an uncommon criminal, it was turning me into that.

My heart ached for the way it was before, even when I was unseen and left behind scenes but I wasn't going to do anything to jeopardize my chances for starting over again. For cleaning my slate.

"You aren't Scar. You can't be. You may try, but you act nothing like him, at least to me... Please, I just want to know your name."

There was a long silence. I was tempted to not respond, why be so dumb as to tell him who I really was? But I gave in soon... "Alphonse Elric, my name is Kristoph Mistan. Pleased to meet you." I stared up at the ceiling. Never had I expected to actually succeed in befriending an Elric.

"N-nice to meet you, Kristoph." He said quietly, stuttering on the first word. "...Nice to meet you, too..."

I was silent for a while.

I don't know. Being in this room really did change me. Seeing nothing but these four-walls contained me more than anything else could attempt to. I would rather have had my father's constricting grasp again than have to spend another day in here. But, I would wait a hundred years to leave, if that was all it took to forget.

Journal of Alphonse Elric

I looked at him. _'I knew it! I knew that he wasn't Scar! He looks like him a little, but there was no way that it could really be him. So, who is this Kristoph Mistan, then?_'

I continued to look at him, confused.

He was on his side, staring at the wall. Little did he know, I knew exactly how he was feeling. Like there was no one really there that understood, because they had never been in the same situation. They said that they understood, but they really had no idea what it was like to not be able to feel. I knew. I was right there with him.

When he first came here, I knew it couldn't be Scar. But who would believe me? A teenaged boy in a suit of armor? No one. But that was fine by me. I was thinking that something was wrong with me. If nothing else, despite all the mistakes the military had made, they could at least capture the right person, right?

Wrong.

The more I watched him, the more that I realized that no, this wasn't Scar. And no, there was no way that this person would be capable of killing a single person. He was much too kind-hearted for that. Not that I thought that Scar would have killed all those people if he had a choice in the matter.

But why is what I couldn't figure out.

Why was he doing a prison sentence for someone else? Because they look alike? Because they have something in common? If they're related... then... That would explain why the appearance. But how? He would have mentioned it at least once. He told me about his brother but why no one else? Did he want to protect them?

It's possible. I mean Scar is one of the most wanted people in the country... If he didn't tell me because he was afraid that I'd slip up and tell someone about who ever it was... If he just wanted to keep them safe, then that was okay. That was fine. I'd lie about Brother if it was to keep him safe.

Then why? Why would, if I was right and Scar had lied all about him to keep him safe, then why would Kristoph turn himself in? From the way that I had been told about it from Ed, it was like he didn't even try. He gave Colonel Mustang, Brigadier General Armstrong, and Major Havoc quite a chase. They almost thought that he had gotten away, until they found him in one of the alleyways with most of the bones in his body broken. He could have gotten away, but he fell. It was almost like he _wanted_ to get caught...

The door always creaked when it was opened.

Colonel Roy Mustang was standing at the door. He looked extremely crestfallen, almost as if someone had just-

"Colonel, what happened?" I asked. I'd forgotten that I wasn't supposed to be in there.

"Alphonse? What are you doing here?" He said looking at me with an eyebrow rose.

"Umm..." I looked around, "Nothing. I was j-just leaving." I attempted to walk through the door but ran into something/someone.

"Owwwwww..." a girl's voice said, "Oww..." She looked up at me with big violet eyes as if she was going to cry. "Owwww."

"I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean to! I didn't hurt you, did I?" I said waving my hands in front of me, "Don't cry, please!"

"No. I'm not. Just wanted to make you feel bad. What's your name, Bucket?" She said standing up and smiling like it was nothing.

"A-actually my name is Alphonse Elric." I said taking a step back. She was scary.

"Oh my god, Alphonso. It's a Mexican bucket."

I had no response. She was insane, I was guessing. And I was right.

"Tell me. Tell me what am I saying, 'Hola, el cubo de Mexicano.' What did I say?"

"E-excuse me. I'm going to go find Edward." I said attempting to slip away.

"I'll go find Hagane." She said excitedly.

"NO! I mean... d-don't you think that you should stay here with Colonel Mustang? He could probably use your help a lot more than I could. I'm pretty sure I know where Ed is."

"Nope. I'm following you." She said and I was stuck with her, because she wasn't leaving anytime soon.

Journal of Kristoph Mistan

This man just stood there, staring at me. I don't know if this was good, but since the Gods were rarely on my side I could come to believe it wasn't. They were more than likely going to have me go down to the field where they were going to shoot me until I died. Just my luck.

He didn't seem incredibly happy though. A little grave actually. Maybe I wasn't going to die today. Maybe tomorrow.

That loud girl, who was probably older than me, left with Alphonse. The man took a seat. I don't know why but he would not stop staring at me, as if he was trying to make sense of some sort of mystery.

'_Good luck with that one, buddy boy. It's going to take you awhile to figure me out.'_ I thought.

"Why'd you lie?" He said very simply. His voice was calm, he didn't have on his gloves, and I was hoping he didn't have a gun. I'd be safe if he didn't, right? I knew better than that. Don't trust the military, I learned that when I was young. So, I was going to sit here and look at a wall until he left.

Around an hour later, I realized he wasn't going to.

I was screwed.

_'If he knows who I am, they're going to really put me in jail for lying to an officer, and then no amount of bargains with homunculi is going to get me out of it. Unless it's the Furor, of course. I'm fine, then. What are they going to do? Especially this guy? I bring up the name Rison Asumuri and he wants to cry. If he brings in that 'Hawkeye' woman, I'm dead, 'cause she'll shoot me, 'cause she does not like me. She wants me dead hence the killing part._'

"Listen, Kris- what ever the hell your name is - we just want to know why. Why you, a young man- you can't be more than like twenty, right? - would willingly waste five months in jail, when you have done, seemingly, nothing wrong? Explain this to me because I'm baffled." He had taken a seat in the chair that Al was in no less than two hours earlier. I personally preferred Al. This man made me feel out of place for reasons more than one. And I said nothing about anything.

I think this made him mad because instants later he had the nerve to get literally five centimeters away from my face (for those of you who don't know the metric system two inches). He invaded my personal space so I had to fuck with his head.

Big time.

"What, Mustang? What? You remember, don't you? Allow me to refresh your memory for you then. First day of the war in Ishbal. Two little boys outside of one of their houses. Shot the blue eyed one straight between the eyes. What did you pitch that memory? What about the day that you murdered two of your best friends? Bet you didn't forget that one, did you?" These words plus a very, very maliciously calm, tone, allowed him to _nearly_ lose his temper. As I said, _nearly_.

He backed up a small amount. Adjusting his gaze, he scanned me over once again. This was getting creepy. He grabbed my chin between his thumb and middle fingers. He turned my head and scanned the sides, more than likely looking at the thick black lines that covered the sides of my face.

Normally personal space was more than mandatory, and this was bothering me to no end. I simply did not like being touched and he was touching indeed. But I was willing to make due with my limited self-space if he would show some sort of remorse. Some sort of apology. It wouldn't ever make up for it, nothing could ever make up for what he did, but this could be a start... I just needed there to be a start. I needed there to be something.

"You are that kid." He was hardly whispering. "You are. That little boy that became my conscience... You didn't die back then? Really? Every time I saw you, you seemed as if you were on the brink between here and there... Death always seemed to be lagging at your heels. I'd suppose that I should apologize, but it's not really going to make up for it, is it? It'd be a waste of breath because you would never in a million years be able to forgive me, would you?"

I couldn't do anything, but glare at him. I wanted to say something that would cause him to breakdown, for something to happen and for him to not be okay after words.

I-I couldn't. Is it my fault that as much as in previous years I hated- more than hated - I wanted this man to die, to lay scorn in the lands of Hell. And now when I was finally getting the chance to say what I wanted to say, to feed to him words that had been bonded to my soul by fire and brimstone, I couldn't even utter one.

I couldn't allow for one harsh, foul sounding, ill-resonance of words be heard? The one time that I got the chance and it to be okay because this man _had_ ruined my life, that one bullet wound had killed everything that I that I liked about who I was, leaving only this soft-spoken, nice little person in its place. I couldn't find it in myself to say a word?

This was fair?

That my conscience had greater power than my mouth for this one time?

Was it fair?

No. No, it's not. It wasn't.

But I couldn't bring myself to say a foul word to him. Was it that look in his eye?

He let go of my chin and sighed, "Listen, Kristoph. You're free to go, but you can not leave the city boundaries because I believe that we're going to need to talk to you again." He looked away for a while, and then turned back to me. "We will be paying for your food, clothing, housing, anything else that you might need."

"What? No." I said, bluntly. '_Damn. They are really trying to release me. I am not being released, nope. They want me to die, but not directly from them because they'll look like bad people. So they're going to let me go, so I killed by Scar. Or the homoculi. Or some partially insane Ishballians. Like I'm even safe for one. And two, what better thing do I have to do than waste away in here? Absolutely nothing._'

"What are you answering no to? Unless you have somewhere else around the city within boundaries and _legal_, I don't see how you are going to survive." He said resting his hands on his own chin.

"No, not that one. I'm not leaving."

"What? Are you insane? We can't keep you here. You _are_ innocent. What part of that seems to be so difficult for you to comprehend?" He cupped his hands over his face and muttered, "Children."

"Well, I'm not a child, and I'm not leaving."

"Really?" He looked at me as if I was an idiot. I knew that feeling.

"Yeah. Really."

He shrugged and said, "Have it your way." And he left the room.

'_That was easy enough._' I sat back on the bed, looking at the door. '_Too easy. Nothing is ever this simple. He's up to something._'


End file.
